


Bones

by immortal_meta



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark Will Graham, Episode: s02e10 Naka-Choko, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:21:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29985567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortal_meta/pseuds/immortal_meta
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Bones

The loud and present drum of anticipation rang through the room, through his mind.  
He threw the gun, forgetting about its feel in his hands the moment he opens his fingers, yet the base it's set thundered.

In a quick move, he was pinned to the wall. It was Randall, he waited for him, the seconds ticking by before his crash, but he saw before him only a set of black antlers, and a dark face behind them.

He wrangled him down to the floor, kneeling above him, and the intense thirst marked his every punch. Not once did he miss.  
The moment ran slowly yet intensely fast. He smashed into the man under him, over and over, his blood rushing wildly as every crack and slam of flesh and bones filled his ears.

The antlers grew again, an alien black form taking every punch with the savagery it was delivered, reveling in it, as the dark hard skin turned to a bloodied suit and ruffled hair.

Will's mouth hung open, tasting the metallic liquid, tasting the fear of Randall, the thick satisfaction of Hannibal, the unbearable smoke of the Wendigo, both suffocating and fueling his every move.

Hannibal smiled under him, a bloody and darkly challenging smile. Will slammed his fist into him, with the melody of grunts and savagery throbbing behind his eyes. He didn't stop, his face covered in blood, didn't feel the flesh of his fist tearing, he was only fueled by the facial deformation he kept on creating.  
With the one below him increasingly stilling, and the blood getting too much, Will stopped to look.

And; he saw - the broken face swirming in its forms, the slowly moving head morphing in and out of a monstrous skin, a predator's skin, his prey's skin.

He gripped the antlers reaching out to him.

Clear and quiet-headed yet wild with adrenaline and the rough red fog of deadly determination.

Will snapped them, feeling the monster's essence fade out.

The room is silent in awe, in elevation.  
He kneeled above him a while after that, the blood drying and his brain returning, the dead man below him wrapped in the scarred suit of a new predator; staring into the hollow eyes of the death he's brought.

An almost religious vastness rang off every wall, a curious and morbid vibration around every breath.

His only thought was the road to Hannibal's house.

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Will carefully lays the ruins of Randall on the table, delicateness in perfect antithesis with the brute road leading to here. 

The faint clink of a choir accentuates his every move as he cautiously sets him down.  
His eyes dart between colorful bruises and torn skin, distorted facial bones and dried blood. The longer his eyes linger, the more they absorb; a composition of destruction and transfiguration. 

He retracts from him, standing at the front of the table. Randall is in a transitional state, motionless in the mist of muted anticipation. An ending beyond the granted end, Will thinks. 

The scent of early decomposition, sweat, and drying blood carries itself to Hannibal's nose as he walks through the hall.  
Opening the door, his preparation for the scene ceases to aid him, at the foot of the picture he has longed to see for what he only consciously knows is no eternity. He closes the door behind him.

The lifeless body splayed on his table fits with perfect morbidness in the dramatic room.  
Will is at the opposite end; like a merciless god, at whose altar a beast who bore no match met his fate.

A small yet severe whisper, penetrates the divine silence dimming the room,

"I'd say this makes us even. I sent someone to kill you... You sent someone to kill me..."  
Will finally looks up at Hannibal.  
"Even-Steven."

He slightly nods.  
"Consider it an act of reciprocity." Hannibal responds, keeping his eyes to Will's, challenging.  
Will finds humor in the words. "Polite society normally places such a taboo on taking a life."

It is then that Hannibal moves closer, inspecting the body. Randall's head is twisted unnaturally, cuts and distortions littering his frozen face.

"Without death we'd be at a loss. It's the prospect of death that drives us to greatness."  
Then, he adds, moving closer,

"Did you kill him with your hands?" A rhetoric question, floating heavily among the atoms of the room.

Will looks down, to his hand, opening his palm. 

"It was..." 

The dried blood splits and cracks with the movement, his hand still enveloped in the buzzing of every flaming blow.  
He admires the harmony created in the blur of Hannibal's ether and his own torn and bleeding anew knuckles.

He distantly relives the act, the pressure in his hands while snapping Randall's neck, the numbness of his limbs as he lay fatal fists upon his prey.

"...Intimate."

He tracks Hannibal with his peripheral, seemingly zoned into the body, as the man steps closer.  
"It deserves intimacy. You were Randall Tier's final enemy."

After a moment,  
"I was his enemy as much as you made me his enemy."

"I made you his final one."

Hannibal takes Will's hand in his own, lifting it up into the light. He gently pushes a finger between Will's thumb and his other fingers, watching as his own hand envelops his obscenely ripped apart fist. He looks up at Will to see his eyes glued to their hands. 

"It's quite fitting. Randall received a natural end to a beast's life. Devoured by a mightier."

Will doesn't take his eyes off of their hands, the way Hannibal caresses his skin, his knuckles, his fingers, in between his words.  
The remaining bit of adrenaline welcomes the shiver he suppresses. A tingling warmth pricks under his skin, and every caress leaves a flaming trail on his hand. He feels heat ooze out of his face, takes a deep breath.

Hannibal stays silent, following every small shift in demeanor with great interest and affection. He inhales. His nose doesn't lie.


End file.
